Thursday
by Ruaki
Summary: AU. Motochika/Motonari.  He never thought he'd love Thursday.
1. Act I

**Title**: Thursday

**Author name**: Ruaki

**Category**: Romance/Humor, Sengoku Basara

**Keywords**: Motochika, Motonari, AU

**Spoilers**: Sengoku Basara 3 characters enormously present

**Summary**: AU. Motochika/Motonari. He never thought he'd love Thursday.

**Notes**: This is a modern day AU: some ideas were taken from Gakuen Basara, but this story is not based off the anthology series.

For the sake of consistency, all romanizations, translations, and "character voice" have been taken from the English localization of Sengoku Basara 3. Therefore, there's no "Engrish" annotations in Date's speech (as I think Engrish in English text is pretty awkward looking anyway) and Mouri's surname is spelled "Mori"—not to be confused with Ranmaru, who isn't even in this story. Full names will also be given in the "first then last" format used by the game. And this means no Japanese honorifics or nicknames. Sorry, aniki!

**Disclaimer**: We'd have more episodes of Mini Sengoku Basara: Chousokabe-kun and Mouri-kun if I owned them... sadly, I don't. It's all Capcom, folks!

**WARNINGS**: None!

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* * *

**Act I.**

Motonari Mori sat demurely underneath a small tree, the sun's warmth reaching through the spare foliage to embrace him with the promise of summer. A worn, dog-eared copy of _The Prince_ was spread open in one hand, but he couldn't get the words to register despite having memorized the text. Frustrated, the teenager started again from the first highlighted line in the thin book and once more his eyes strayed to the half-eaten box lunch on the grass beside him, chopsticks resting neatly across the top.

Irritation washed over him anew.

This was the third time that the lughead hadn't shown up. That equaled three weeks; one more and it would be a month. One month! And Motonari knew the moron didn't have a valid excuse this time for a month-long absence—indeed, he had caught sight of the idiot yukking it up with his fellow idiots just last week when the peasant was supposed to be _here_.

At the sound of the warning bell, Motonari snapped shut his book with a scowl. That fool. Some things never changed. As always, when he wanted something done right, he'd have to do it himself.

It was truly disgusting how deep he was drowning in that boy's waters, so Motonari never allowed himself to think about it too carefully. He knew he'd kill himself in shame if he really realized the full import of just how much his life had changed—and _why_—so it was better just to deny that there was a change at all.

But what made it all the more insulting was that this change has been so gradual and pervasive that, for all his genius, he had never noticed what had happened until it was too late. By then it was reflex to leave his lunch half-eaten on Thursdays, to not block out present company when he was reading, to dull the barbs of his insults and disdain, and to concede that a 'hmph' was a sufficient end to any escalating condescension.

There was nothing that wouldn't yield to the constant battering of the sea, and after seven years of acknowledgment, Motonari was no exception.

That fool. Motonari would make him regret his absence.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari Mori was a remarkably intelligent young boy. However, he had quickly learned that exceptional intelligence was not a trait appreciated by his peers. It made him _different_, and most children were not yet wired to cope with differences. So he isolated himself, using adult vocabulary to confuse his peers and flaunting an air of superiority that made him instantly hated. And that's how it was, year after year, spending his free time with military treatises as his sole company.

He was fine with that, because those other kids were nothing to him, as indistinct as drops of rain. And Motonari didn't care what they thought of him, which was just as well, since they thought nothing of him at all.

Motonari was ten when he was shuffled off onto some relatives as his parents took jobs overseas. He hated the move because it meant he had to start all over in training the monkeys around him: a new set of curious do-gooders to intimidate with an unblinking stare or a new gang of primitive bullies to dispatch if he couldn't browbeat them down.

On the first day at his new school, he introduced himself to his classmates in a monotone, eyes fixed on a point over the heads of new faces he'd never remember. During lunch and after class, he answered the questions of his peers in a way that was not deliberately insulting but was without a doubt utterly condescending. Within less than a week, the wall of isolation was up around him and the new student was promptly forgotten.

The familiar status quo returned and Motonari was content.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari typically took his lunches on the roof, away from the annoying chattering of his classmates, but eventually a mob of boys migrated to his haven every Thursday to play some kind of illicit card game. He tried to ignore them at first, retreating to a shadowed corner against his will, but they were rambunctious as they shouted in glee or defeat. It was just too much and he reluctantly gave up his territory to save his own sanity.

So now he spent his Thursdays outside on the school grounds, underneath a sparsely branched tree overlooking the PE field. There were other kids about, but they seemed so far away due to the spacious environment and he was able to eat and read in peace.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey, you wanna play? We're short one person."

Motonari was so engrossed in his copy of _The Book of Five Rings_ that he didn't realize someone had approached him until he was spoken to. The stranger was blocking out the dappled sunlight which had discolored the pages of his book, and at the edge of his vision, he could see a pair of scuffed shoes with scribbles drawn on them in marker. Motonari just continued to read.

"Uh... hey—"

"No," Motonari said without looking up. He could tell this was going to be one of _those _types; it would be better to just head this one off quickly.

There was an injured silence before the other kid left.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey, we're short a person again." The dirty, doodled-on shoes returned the next week. "Wanna play?"

Motonari didn't answer or look up.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The shoes were back again. "Hey, wanna join us?"

"..."

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey—"

"No."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari didn't even give time for his persistent stalker to say a word when he caught the shoes approaching from the corner of his eye. "When will you understand," he said in a low tone, aiming the most unfriendly stare he could at the obnoxious owner of those shoes standing beside him, "that I have no interest in playing in your stupid game?"

"Hey, you finally looked at me," the other boy said with a lopsided grin, as if he finally achieved some long-standing goal. He was gangly and his uniform rumpled and ill-fitting. The pin at his collar marked him in the same grade as Motonari. "My dad always said you should look at someone when talking to them."

Motonari's answering scowl would've withered the bravest of souls, but this pale-haired boy continued to grin impudently.

"I'm Motochika Chosokabe." The boy pointed a thumb at himself. "What's your name?"

Motonari disliked him immediately. He could tell this Motochika Chosokabe fell right into the category of inconsiderate, loud-mouthed attention seekers, the kind that had no respect for personal space or privacy. They were persistent, invasive busy-bodies who had to be the center of attention, the type of person that needed be liked by everyone but had no real consideration for others. These "hero" types liked seeking out the introverted sorts for "the introvert's own good" and viewed them as little more than novelties or sidekicks.

Motonari played the fool for no one. "Go. Away." He really didn't want to relocate again; he was still bitter over losing his spot on the roof, even if it was only one day out of the week. But he hated change and he hated losing.

"Okay," Motochika acquiesced easily and Motonari couldn't help but be surprised at how quickly he'd won. "Maybe you can join us next time?"

Motonari didn't bother to dignify that with a response, pointedly returning to his book.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the top of his book, Motonari spotted the shoes approaching again, but he didn't have time to react before Motochika plopped down beside him. Motochika stretched out his legs as if he naturally belonged by Motonari's side. "Hey. What's up?"

For a moment, Motonari had no idea how to react. This was simply too outrageous, and his mind, always so logical and calculating, just froze. But then indignation took over. His fingers clenched at his book, crinkling the pages, as he very slowly turned to drop an unblinking stare on his unwelcome guest.

Motochika was oblivious, staring at the box lunch on Motonari's lap with undisguised envy. "Wow, are you going to finish that?"

"Yes," Motonari replied in the flattest tone he could manage, even though he had forgotten about the food completely. "Go play or something. Leave me alone."

Motochika made a face, leaning back on his hands. "Date and his group got in trouble this morning. So I thought I'd hang out with you today since you never want to hang out with us."

"Did you miss the 'leave me alone' clause?"

The pale-haired boy glanced at him. Motochika had really large eyes; they made him look almost girlish. They were also very expressive, and curiosity burned in them. "Why do you always sit alone here?"

"What?" It was the second time Motonari was caught off-balance in less than a few minutes.

"Every time I see you, you're alone here."

"Have you ever considered that I might possibly enjoy being alone?"

Motochika scratched his cheek. "I guess you're right..."

"Of course I am," and with that, Motonari dismissed the other, smoothing out the pages of his abused copy of _The Seven Military Classics_.

Motochika didn't say anything more, but he didn't leave either.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"I still don't know your name."

Motochika coming to bother him was routine now. Motonari knew that Motochika's friends weren't always conveniently in trouble on Thursdays, but when he questioned the gangly boy about it, the other would just shrug. Requests to be left alone were usually met with a request to eat Motonari's lunch, and graphic threats of bodily harm were often met with a cheeky grin. And because Motonari refused to admit defeat, he continued to return to the same spot every Thursday to wage this impossible war. He eventually discovered the tactic of tuning out Motochika's ramblings; once the other boy realized he was being ignored, he would fall silent.

It wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn't companionable either. It was just there: annoying enough to remind Motonari about his unwanted companion but unobtrusive enough to accept as a small victory. The silence was never broken when it settled—except for today. Motonari had thought that Motochika was half-dozing when suddenly the pale-haired boy turned to him and carelessly spoke about Motonari's name.

"Good," Motonari replied.

"It's not good." Motochika's face was petulant. "If you don't want to tell me your name, then I'll just make one up for you. And you're not gonna like it."

"Do whatever you want; it doesn't matter to me."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika didn't show up the next week.

Motonari was glad. He was even more happy when Motochika failed to show the week after. Maybe he had finally gotten rid of the pest.

However, by the third week, that glee had faded. It had been replaced with the nagging sensation of having misplaced something. He spent his entire lunch reacting to every footstep that passed within hearing distance, gaze immediately snapping up to see if they were those familiar, despised shoes.

He wasn't worried though. It's not like he lost any sleep over it, and once lunch was over, he didn't even spare another moment's thought on it. He certainly didn't miss that nosy boy with the large, expressive eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Week four yielded no Motochika, despite Motonari lunching under the tree every day that week.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey."

Motonari jerked his head up at the familiar greeting the following Thursday, though it had sounded rather subdued. "Chosokabe! Where have you been?" he demanded, not caring how it sounded like he had missed his unwanted lunch partner.

Motochika stood shyly some distance away, which was strange. Motonari frowned. Motochika's uniform was crisp with newness and his hair had been shaved close to his head, a medical patch stark over his left eye.

Motochika smiled faintly, an adult smile that seemed out of place when Motonari was so used to his childish grins. "Sorry." He rubbed the back of his head before he finally approached. Motonari's frown deepened. The carefree roll to his walk was missing—as were those ugly shoes. The pair he now wore were new like his uniform.

Motochika sat down next to him and Motonari couldn't help but stare at the eyepatch and a line of nearly healed bruises and scrapes mottling the left side of his face, leading into his scalp. "Your eye..." The words slipped out before Motonari could stop them.

"Mm?" Motochika turned to him. "Oh." Motochika touched the patch gingerly.

Motonari's mouth tightened. Motochika, who volunteered all sorts of information without much prompting, was being abnormally reticent, and this made Motonari's lunch flop around in his gut.

He didn't know how to deal with it, so he just went back to his book. Motochika stared into the distance beside him and for once, the silence was awkward and stifling.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Through school gossip, Motonari learned of the accident that took Motochika's parents and his left eye. He wondered what Motochika had wanted when he came to him that day. Surely he didn't expect sympathy or pity when Motonari regularly treated him with contempt?

It bothered him. He didn't like things he couldn't understand; it made him feel stupid and helpless.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Must your stomach be so loud?"

Motochika rubbed his rumbling belly. "Sorry, it's got a mind of its own."

Things were relatively returning to normal—such as it was. The medical eyepatch had been replaced by a regular one which sported a different badly doodled design on the flap each day. Motochika's attitude was again his usual freewheeling disposition, though it seemed somewhat tempered by a new-found maturity. It didn't make his company any more pleasant, however.

Motonari shot him a disgusted look, before reaching over to pick up the remains of his box lunch and dumping it unceremoniously before Motochika.

"Huh? For me? Seriously?"

Motonari grunted in reply, returning to his book.

-.-.-.-.-.-

After a few weeks, Motonari started bringing bigger lunches.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Motonari Mori."

"Hm?"

"That's your name. It says it on your bento." Motochika pointed to the lacquer cover of Motonari's box lunch, where his name and his family crest were etched with gold.

Motonari blinked, looking at the other boy. Motochika's hair was wild and wavy again, held back from his face by a hairband. Several thin, pink scars marred the skin of his forehead; one slashed through the brow above his left eye. "Yes, it's my name." He wasn't sure what Motochika was driving at.

"Well, I finally know your name now, Mori!" Motochika grinned.

Oh, right. Motonari had forgotten he had never actually introduced himself to Motochika. "Good for you."

Motochika hummed, pleased. He took a marker from his pocket and wrote Mori's name on his once-more dirty, drawn-on shoes.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The days started getting cooler as summer faded into autumn and autumn began to whisper the first chill of winter. Motonari hated the cold and was forced to stay in his classroom for all his meal breaks. To combat the annoying presence of his classmates, he would drown out their noise with a music player he'd brought from home and sit as far away as possible from the clusters of children.

Somehow Motochika managed to find him, near the end of lunch on the first Thursday of his migration. The boy's grin was so sunny with pride that Motonari knew Motochika must've looked all over the school for him.

Through the winter, Motonari only kept one earbud of his headphones in on Thursdays.

-.-.-.-.-.-

In the spring was graduation. He didn't see Motochika and he didn't look for him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The second year at his new school started off with pretty much the same class he had previously, so he didn't have to bother with the isolation tactics; the students immediately left him alone. There were no greetings for him, no inquiries on what he did over the brief break. All around him, before the homeroom teacher came in, kids laughed and gossiped; he read a dissertation in German on Frederick the Great's _Military Instruction_.

Thursday came and with it, lunch period. As he left class, Motonari hesitated, looking up the stairs that led to the roof. A group of kids pushed passed him, laughing as they stomped up the stairs. With a silent sigh, he headed down the stairs that led outside.

Motochika was already there under the tree, sprawled on the grass. He sat up with a bright smile and waved when Motonari approached, greeting the slim boy and asking him how his break went.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Third verse, same as the first. But maybe with a little less of the ignoring and insulting.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The desire for power hit Motonari when he was fourteen. Enamored as he was by the military treatises he consumed regularly, it was only natural that he eventually sought out positions of leadership and influence within his life.

"I heard you were elected rep in your class," Motochika said on a Thursday after Motonari was assigned his new responsibility. He was busy devouring what remained of Motonari's lunch. "I never would've thought someone as reclusive and anti-social as you would wanna be class rep."

"I'm very social." Motonari scrawled a note on the text he was reading. "Just because I'm not cordial doesn't mean I'm not social."

"The hell? You have a funny way of showing it," Motochika replied in between bites.

"How little you know me," Motonari murmured.

Motochika paused, and Motonari had the faint impression that he had somehow hurt the other boy's feelings.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika didn't show up one Thursday in the summer of that fourth year of their acquaintanceship.

Lunch period was almost over. Motonari stared up through the rustling leaves of the tree, spots of sunlight kissing his face. What normally was a pleasant experience did little to alleviate the tight ball of emotion he was doing his utmost to control.

He was irritated.

He was irritated because he was irritated.

And he was irritated that he was irritated because he was irritated.

He ignored all the possible reasons for his original irritation. And _that_ just made him angry.

.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Where were you?" Motonari flatly greeted Motochika the next Thursday as the boy approached.

"Sorry about that. Was absent from school." Motochika dropped next to him, immediately reaching for the lunch that lay between them and examining the remaining contents. "Were you worried about me?" 

Motonari's stare was frosty. "Don't be ridiculous. You were supposed to be here and you weren't. I wanted to know why."

Motochika picked up the chopsticks and began the rather disturbing process of inhaling his food. "I couldn't get out of bed," the pale-haired boy said around mouthfuls of rice, "I was such a wreck."

"A 'wreck'?" Motonari repeated before pressing his lips together as he quickly made a few deductions. "Oh..."

"Yeah... It's happened every year but it wasn't as bad this time." Motochika chewed reflectively. "I never told you about the accident, huh?"

Motonari shifted. "I've... heard the rumors."

"Yeah, it sure was the talk of the school, huh?" Motochika smiled.

The other boy was quiet, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with both the subject matter and Motochika's casual attitude toward it. It was a sensation he was not used to and it was not one he liked.

"Oh, hey, I never did thank you."

Motonari blinked at him. Motochika's thoughts had a way of rapidly changing gears that it was sometimes difficult to keep up. "For the lunches?"

"Oh um, that too, but this is for being there for me that day."

'That day' must've meant the Thursday after Motochika's month-long absence three years ago. Motonari could still remember the stifling silence—it was the only time the silence between them had been so oppressive. "I... didn't do anything." In the hindsight of experience, he knew he was supposed to have comforted Motochika, even if it was a false compassion. Still, he didn't feel guilty that he didn't extend his sympathies that day or any day hereafter. He still had no idea why Motochika had even sought him out instead of the company of people that were actually his friends.

Motochika shook his head. "You did plenty. You were there."

"How is 'being there' worthy of thanks?"

"Sometimes being there is all that's needed." Motochika smiled again, gentle. "Don't you think so?"

Motonari could feel it—the slow heat climbing the back of his neck, spreading to his cheeks. He quickly turned back to his book, letting his chin-length hair hide his face. "You're an idiot."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika had a girlfriend. Motonari knew this because he had caught sight of the couple holding hands in the hallway. He rarely noticed Motochika outside of their Thursday meetings, though the teenager was growing like a weed, standing almost a head taller than most other students in their age group. He also was almost always surrounded by groups of people—his many friends or fellow gang members—but perhaps Motonari noticed him this time because it was just Motochika and the girl, cozy in their little world.

What Motochika did with his life outside of lunch on Thursdays didn't interest Motonari. He wasn't curious or jealous of Motochika's dating status, but he did have a slight concern. He had observed how other couples could become so wrapped up in their relationship that they ignored all other obligations. What Motochika did with his life beyond Thursday lunches wasn't Motonari's concern, but Motochika attending those Thursday lunches were.

"You will still come here on Thursdays," Motonari partly asked, but mostly ordered, the next time they met under the tree.

"Huh?" Motochika blinked at him, taken off-guard from what seemed like the most random of statements. "Er, yeah? I have been for the last four years." His brow furrowed. "Why would I stop?"

"I'm holding you to your word." Motonari stared hard at him.

Motochika grinned, the biggest grin Motonari had ever seen on the other boy's face. Something about it annoyed Motonari deep down, as if Motochika knew something Motonari didn't. "Don't worry. Thursday is Mori Day. I promise."

"Hmph." But Motonari was satisfied. This single hour, once a week, belonged to Motonari and he'd do anything to protect his possession of it.


	2. Act II

**Title**: Thursday

**Author name**: Ruaki

**Category**: Romance/Humor, Sengoku Basara

**Keywords**: Motochika, Motonari, AU

**Spoilers**: Sengoku Basara 3 characters enormously present

**Summary**: AU. Motochika/Motonari. He never thought he'd love Thursday.

**Notes**: This is a modern day AU: some ideas were taken from Gakuen Basara, but this story is not based off the anthology series.

For the sake of consistency, all romanizations, translations, and "character voice" have been taken from the English localization of Sengoku Basara 3. Therefore, there's no "Engrish" annotations in Date's speech (as I think Engrish in English text is pretty awkward looking anyway) and Mouri's surname is spelled "Mori"—not to be confused with Ranmaru, who isn't even in this story. Full names will also be given in the "first then last" format used by the game. And this means no Japanese honorifics or nicknames. Sorry, aniki!

**Disclaimer**: We'd have more episodes of Mini Sengoku Basara: Chousokabe-kun and Mouri-kun if I owned them... sadly, I don't. It's all Capcom, folks!

**WARNINGS**: Language.

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**Act II.**

Week three. Another week and it'd be a month. Motochika Chosokabe had spent nearly every Thursday of the last seven years lunching with Motonari Mori and he still couldn't believe he was heading to Class 3-M again instead of being with him.

Motochika had rarely missed a Thursday meeting since they started and the last time he had missed this many in a row was just after the accident when he was ten.

Behind the school was an empty lot that had been cleared for expansion of the school grounds. Unfortunately, plans had hit a snag in bureaucracy, and the lot was abandoned with its leftover construction materials, dirt, and all. Eventually the delinquents gravitated here and now it was the official gathering spot for the three rowdiest gangs of the school. The lot was christened Class 3-M after the three gang leaders: Masamune Date, Magoichi Saica, and Motochika Chosokabe.

A raised dais of concrete and wood, left by the construction workers before the project was canned, was designated the Summit, where the inner circle of leadership camped. Though they each had their own territory outside of school and sometimes competed against the other two groups to expand it, the "classroom" of Class 3-M was a neutral zone. Truth be told, the three leaders had a long standing friendship that dated back for a good many years; the respect they had for each other kept relations between their subordinates cordial.

"Boss, yer eatin' here today again?" One of his lieutenants, Kira, asked with some surprise as Motochika approached the Summit.

Motochika forced a smile, clasping his hands behind his head in an effort to look cool and casual. "Am I no longer welcome to eat with my own gang?" He ignored the look Masamune and Magoichi exchanged as he sat down in his usual spot across from them.

Kira shook his head, though he looked a bit confused. "It's just yer always with that guy on Thursdays and this is the third week in a row..."

Motochika's heart twisted in pain as guilt stabbed him with a knife.

"Yes, Chosokabe, you're always with that guy on Thursdays," Masamune repeated with an amused expression. "Did you break—" Kojuro Katakura, Masamune's right-hand man, discreetly pinched the back of his neck as Motochika shot the One-Eyed Dragon a dirty look.

"Er." Kira crumpled a bit under the uncomfortable atmosphere. "I got some playin' cards... anyone... uh... up for a round?"

"That's probably the wisest thing anyone has said yet," Magoichi said as she stared down the other two leaders.

Motochika refused to look her in the face; Masamune just shrugged.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika Chosokabe was an outgoing, simple sort of kid. He liked people and he liked fun, and it was with great pleasure that he mixed the two together. The youngest of a family of six meant that he was always surrounded by people, and so the concept of loneliness was rather foreign.

He easily made friends when he started school; Motochika was indiscriminate in who he accepted as a comrade and there were very few people he disliked. He just felt that everyone should be respected, and he received in turn the respect of friends and rivals alike.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Unlike most great romances, it wasn't love at first sight. It certainly wasn't at the second or third sight either. But there was something there after that first meeting. Maybe it was misplaced pity or just plain curiosity. Either way, in the beginning, Motochika had been honestly looking for another person for his team.

But seeing the boy sitting there alone Thursday after Thursday aroused his interest, and Motochika wasn't shy about pestering complete strangers. The fact that the Thursday boy never bothered to look up or fully acknowledged him was a bit of a game in Motochika's mind; soon he was bothering the boy just to get a reaction. When the Thursday boy finally looked up at to stare at Motochika with cold, brown eyes, Motochika felt like he had won the lottery.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika made it a point to follow-up once he had broken the Thursday boy's resistance. Masamune serving a detention provided the perfect opportunity to spend his own lunch with his new acquaintance. The Thursday boy's declaration of self-imposed isolation actually shocked Motochika; he had never met anyone who enjoyed solitude.

The Thursday boy was so _weird_.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika had thought up a fantastic nickname for the Thursday boy, but he never had a chance to tell him because the car accident happened.

His memories of the accident itself were fragmented, shadowed by screeches and crunching glass. He only remembered waking up at the hospital, disoriented and covered in bandages. His eldest sister was holding his hand, her eyes red from crying. He'd later find out why when he kept asking for his mother and she never came.

When Motochika had finally returned to school, he didn't even think about the Thursday boy—until the questions and doting attention from his friends became too much, and he just wanted to be with someone that would just _be there_ and not waste words on comfort or ask him if he was feeling okay. Or even someone who wouldn't even ask about the accident at all.

Motochika could tell the other boy was uncomfortable with his presence when he came the following Thursday; the silence between them was heavy. But Motochika was grateful.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika admired the pretty bento Thursday boy brought; they always looked so delicious. Motochika didn't know how to cook and his sisters were always too busy to prepare a lunch for him, so he had to get lunch at school. Unfortunately, the cafeteria food was not a delectable—much less a consumable—option outside of the anpan, and no one could live on anpan for the entire school year.

Typically, Motochika would bum scraps of food off his many friends, but Thursdays meant he was stuck with the one boy who didn't like to share his pretty, pretty food.

Then one day he did and Motochika knew that something between them had changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-

What followed was just natural to Motochika's nature and Motonari Mori was soon among those Motochika called friend.

-.-.-.-.-.-

They were fifteen and Motochika couldn't remember what or who had actually started the fight. One minute they were arguing—Motochika yelling and Motonari growing more and more quiet the angrier he became—and the next minute they were exchanging blows. The pair had to be pried apart by several bystanders, but by then Motochika's head was swimming from where Motonari had punched him on his blind side. Blood was in his mouth and running out his nose and his uniform was torn and stained. Motonari hadn't gotten off much better, glaring coldly at him despite a rapidly swelling eye and scowling through a busted lip.

Motochika thought that was the end of their friendship, despite feeling contrite about the altercation when he got home. He wanted to apologize to Motonari right away, but there seemed to be an unspoken rule that their friendship was only allowed to exist on Thursdays. So he waited, unsure if there even still was a friendship.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The next Thursday, Motonari was there under their tree with barely visible wounds, a box lunch sitting beside him half-filled with food as usual. As Motochika approached, he could see there was even something extra in the box—a few pieces of delicately crafted sushi that Motochika had once offhandedly noted were his favorite kind.

It was funny. Motonari, for all his wit and oratory, could never just say what he was feeling.

Motochika apologized and then ate Motonari's "apology"—it was the best sushi he ever had.

-.-.-.-.-.-

They never had another physical fight after that, because as much as Motonari talked about how crude fighting was and how adverse he was to raw force, the boy was a mean fighter who wasn't above dirty tricks. They still argued occasionally, but Motochika curbed his aggressive instincts around Motonari; he didn't want to lose his remaining eye.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Winter was assaulting the school grounds, so the lunches under the tree were forfeited in favor of a spot in Motonari's noisy classroom.

Motochika was sitting atop a desk beside Motonari's own, swinging his legs freely as he watched the other boy meticulously plan an itinerary for the club he was in. Everything Motonari did was always so carefully considered and evaluated—even the strokes of his pen. It frustrated Motochika; sometimes he wanted to grab Motonari and whisk him off to do something completely spontaneous.

Motochika suddenly straightened. Now there was an idea. "Hey, Mori."

"Hm?" The other boy's writing continued without interruption.

"Let's do something after school!" The more Motochika thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Why shouldn't they meet beyond Thursday lunches? Motonari never acknowledged him outside of this period, even when they passed each other in the halls. Friends should hang out for more than just an hour a week. He could show Motonari Class 3-M or they could go hit up the arcade (was Motonari even into games?) or just do whatever things Motonari did on his free time.

"No," Motonari replied without hesitation.

"Why not?"

"I have plans."

"Oh." Motochika leaned forward earnestly. "How about tomorrow then? Or some other time when you're not busy?"

"I'm always busy, Chosokabe." Motonari was becoming testy at the interruption of his work.

Motochika scowled. "What, you can't unbusy yourself for a friend?"

"I 'unbusy' myself for you every Thursday at lunch."

"Sort of like how you're 'unbusy' right now?"

Motonari's pen paused in mid-scrawl and he looked up. Motochika glared at him, refusing to relent. He knew his glare could be truly intimidating when he was angry, but Motonari just blinked and returned to his scheduling.

It hurt to be so casually dismissed like that. For the first time since they became friends, Motochika left before the bell rang. He was positive Motonari didn't even notice.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Though he returned the next Thursday, Motochika never brought up meeting outside of school again.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika soon noticed a change in Motonari's behavior. It wasn't anything tangible—he didn't do anything different than usual—but his body language seemed less distant.

If Motochika didn't know better, it was as if Motonari was actually making an effort to pay more attention to him in between the reading or writing.

But that was crazy. Motochika dismissed it as a figment of his optimistic imagination and never thought about it again.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Graduation arrived amid the blossoms of spring. Motochika caught sight of Motonari leaving the school alone. The pale-haired boy broke past his circle of friends to call out to the other, but since it wasn't a Thursday lunch hour, he figured he would be ignored.

He was pleasantly surprised when Motonari slowly stopped and turned. Motochika quickly caught up to him, smiling broadly. "Take care, Mori. I'll see you when we get back."

Motonari nodded briefly. "Yes. You too, Chosokabe." And then he continued on home.

Motochika felt he was about to burst with joy.

-.-.-.-.-.-

There was no "ah-ha" moment when Motochika realized just how bad he had it for his Thursday lunch buddy. While the feeling did sneak up on him, it didn't rap him on the head or shower him with sparks of passion, unlike the crushes he had pursued previously. In fact, Motochika had been rather disappointed in how anti-climatic it was in retrospect.

Still, it didn't change the fact that when they were sixteen, Motochika had turned to say something inane and caught sight of Motonari absently tucking a strand of hair behind an ear and a warm feeling washed over him. The thought '_I think I love him_' followed and it seemed such a natural thought that Motochika knew it was true.

That was that and the lunch period continued normally.

(However, later that night, Motochika's sisters all wondered why he was banging his head against a wall while muttering, "Stupid, stupid, stupid" to himself.)

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motonari wasn't like any of Motochika's other friends. Even Mitsunari, who had all the charm and social grace of a rock to the skull, valued loyalty and friendship within his very tiny circle. Motochika was pretty sure Motonari's social circle—if it even existed—was something he used for gain and discarded once it was bled dry.

Motonari also wasn't like any of Motochika's previous crushes. Motochika had had a modest share of dates from both genders; he really didn't have a "type" and just went wherever his heart led him. Sometimes his heart landed him in good places and sometimes bad. He occasionally trusted the wrong people and fell into the wrong relationships, but he lived and learned. That was life—to weather the storms and come out sailing under the sun when it was all over.

Motochika wasn't sure if Motonari was a "good" place or a "bad" place because he wasn't sure what Motonari was gaining from their friendship. Motonari was verbally abusive, arrogant, and patronizing, but he was also frank, capable, and independent, with a remarkable perception about others that belied his standoffish manner. He was protective of what he perceived to be his—such as Motochika's Thursday lunch hour—and while he was an asshole about it, Motonari was a persuasive leader. People listened to him and things got done. The slender teenager was born for success.

Motochika really didn't have anything to offer Motonari that Motonari didn't already have. The pale-haired teenager didn't rank high academically and he didn't have any defining social status; as a leader of delinquents, Motochika was pretty much the bottom of the barrel with no hope of respect from white-collar society. The only thing Motochika had to give was his company, which Motonari never shied away from—when it was Thursday and lunchtime.

So Motochika had come to the conclusion that unlike Mitsunari, who was socially ignorant, Motonari was simply socially disinclined. Motonari didn't want to forget the world—he just didn't want to mingle in it, for whatever reason. But he allowed Motochika to be by his side and maybe that meant Motochika had a chance.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hey... Mori..."

"Yes?"

"Are we friends?"

"More or less."

"... Do—do you like me?"

"I can stand your company for an hour, yes."

"..."

"... What is it, Chosokabe?"

"Never mind. Forget it."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika's personality made him ill-equipped to handle rejection of any sort when he was too emotionally invested in the other party. He had almost lost a few precious relationships due to that, but the other person always came through to reassure him of their bond. Motonari probably wouldn't be as generous.

Thus Motochika avoided mentioning his feelings to Motonari. Some part of him hoped they'd go away, because he didn't need another complication in their already complicated friendship.

The other part of him just hoped.

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was their last year of school. After graduation, there would be no more Thursday lunches. No more spotting Motonari ghosting through the hallways before or after class and feeling his own day brighten a little. And probably no more Motonari. He had mentioned to Motochika that he was planning on attending an overseas university—this meant Motochika couldn't even make plans to continue having some sort of Thursday meet-up once they graduated.

As the full import of how much this really was their last year together hit him, Motochika found himself growing dispirited. This was the last year to tell Motonari how he really felt about the other boy and the thought made butterflies spawn in his stomach. The school year break had done little to alleviate his feelings.

"Your kid's got that look on his face again, Magoichi," Masamune drawled, jerking a thumb at Motochika.

Magoichi propped a chin in her hand. "Why is he always 'my kid' when he's like this?"

"Because _my_ kid would never look like that."

Motochika ignored them both. Tomorrow was the first Thursday of the new school year and he was dreading it.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Since Motochika took his time to arrive, Motonari was already there under the tree. The slim boy didn't wave or smile in greeting, but the atmosphere around him wasn't unwelcoming when Motochika took his spot beside him.

Their eyes locked and Motochika felt himself warm all over, pushing away his depression. They talked about their break while sharing Motonari's lunch, and Motochika forgot about all his problems for now. He was just happy to see Motonari again.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The dull sound of a book slamming shut startled Motochika out of his reverie and he turned to Motonari with a questioning look. "Something wrong?"

"I believe that's my line."

Motochika blinked. "I'm fine. What do you mean?"

Motonari lifted a knee to rest an elbow on it, fingers cradling his cheek. His eyes were hard. "You've been wool-gathering for the past few weeks and it's disturbing my concentration. You seem incapable of brooding quietly."

"I didn't know I was making any noise," Motochika replied sourly. He also didn't know that he was being that obvious.

"You are figuratively. You haven't been eating either."

Motochika glanced down at the lunch by his side. He had only a few bites of rice and daikon while the rest remained untouched, including a gorgeously prepared piece of pink lox. He felt guilty, but he just couldn't bring himself to eat. As the weeks inexplicably marched toward summer, the dread marched back into his heart. Being with Motonari was slowly become akin to torture, as Motochika spent his time either gazing at the object of his affections or staring off into the distance, imagining all the horrible ways Motonari would reject him if he were to confess.

"Well, Chosokabe? What is it? Are you already failing your classes?"

"The year's just started—"

"Trouble at home?"

"No, my sisters—"

"Have your friends decided to abandon you?"

"Of course no—"

"Money?"

"Not real—"

"Love?"

Motochika hesitated. "No."

That didn't fool Motonari. "Ah, here is the crux of the matter," he said clinically. "Were you rejected?"

"Not... yet..."

"Well then, I see nothing to brood about." Motonari settled back and opened his book as if everything were solved.

This just made Motochika feel even more miserable; if only it were so easy. He thought he had been doing well, but each meeting served to only hammer home the intensity of his feelings and how helpless he was because he couldn't—wouldn't—act on them. "I can't say anything to them," he said hesitantly.

"'Can't'? It doesn't appear that you've lost your ability to speak."

Motochika glared at him. "Dammit, Mori, this isn't a joking matter."

The other boy just turned a page in his book. "I'm very serious."

"No, you're not," Motochika growled. "I know when you're making fun of me. I can't say anything because this person is way outta my league. I'd get laughed at and probably kicked to the curb."

"Impressive. Someone so exalted that even Motochika Chosokabe dare not approach." Motonari pulled a highlighter from his school bag and marked a passage in the text. "Do tell me more."

"_Quit_ mocking me, dammit."

"I said I was serious, Chosokabe. You have aroused my curiosity."

Motochika frowned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Just... Just this person is amazing, okay? Clever and witty and a leader and pretty hot to boot and..." Motochika trailed off, his gaze softening as he studied Motonari's profile. "...and sometimes a little frustrating to deal with but every gesture of kindness they give me makes it all worthwhile..."

"It sounds like you're describing your Tokugawa friend," Motonari observed after a moment.

Motochika stopped short, rather surprised that Motonari remembered the name of one of his closest friends, much less what Ieyasu was like. "Ieyasu?" Then his brain quickly caught up to his mouth and registered what Mori was implying. "_What_? Are you crazy? Mitsunari would cut off my head, reach down my neck, and eat my heart if I chose Ieyasu over him!" Maintaining his neutral status as a friend to them both was delicate work, considering Mitsunari and Ieyasu didn't quite have cordial relations with each other.

"Ah, so it's Ishida, then. How brave of you."

Motochika stared at him in dismay. He had a pretty good idea that Ieyasu hoped Mitsunari would one day be Tokugawa territory, despite the overwhelming unlikelihood of Mitsunari waking up one morning and realizing Ieyasu was a swell guy. Motochika wouldn't ever betray a friend by going after someone they crushed on. "That's not what I meant!"

"Is that so..."

"Anyway, I like a girl!" Motochika said quickly, a bit concerned that Motonari was naming his male friends.

Motonari muffled a cough behind a hand. "Saica has enough problems dealing with her useless Maeda accessory."

The pale-haired boy got the distinctive feeling he was being mocked. "Yeah, well... it's not her anyway. It's someone you probably don't know." He rubbed the back of his head, trying to think of a girl Motonari didn't know and would generally avoid if he did. Motochika wasn't good at thinking when on the spot. He knew he had mentioned many girls that were his friends—or (ex)girlfriends—but trying to finding someone who fit the qualifications Motochika had listed as well as being inaccessible to Motonari was a real conundrum.

Except... there was _that_ one. ... she was perfect. "It's... it's Tsuruhime."

Motochika mistook the ensuing silence as Motonari not having a clue to who he was talking about and congratulated himself on picking the perfect fake crush. But all that good feeling evaporated once he noticed the strange expression on Motonari's face. Very little phased the unflappable Motonari Mori, so this was the first time Motochika had ever seen the other teenager look so incredulous.

"Tsuruhime?" Motonari couldn't keep the his voice level. "From the archery club? The one you said calls you a filthy pirate?"

"Y-yeah. Do you know her?" Inside, Motochika was cursing like a sailor.

"I know _of_ her." Motonari paused. "Are you sure it's Tsuruhime?"

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be sure of who I like?" Motochika was insulted—on principle, of course.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Motonari shrugged in resignation, shaking his head. "Very well. I shall speak to her on your behalf."

"_What_?" Motochika blurted out, taken by surprise. Since when did Motonari do him any favors? Motonari shot him another strange look, and Motochika realized that his outburst was a bit too loud and vehement. "Er, I mean... you're not going to like her. She's the type you can't stand."

"Then you should be grateful for the sacrifice I'm willing to make for you."

Motochika waved his hands around in frantic dismissal. "No, no, no, don't worry about it! You'll just whine," he saw Motonari bristle, "to me afterward about how annoying she is."

"'Whine'? _Really_."

Motochika grimaced—he chose not to argue the point because he knew he'd lose. "Just don't tell her. Please?" He clapped his hands together in a pleading gesture. "She'll think I'm a coward, getting someone else to do it."

Motonari rolled his eyes. "You _are_ a coward if you cannot even profess your feelings to the one you like."

"It's complicated! Telling someone how you really feel..."

"Hardly. You just open your mouth and speak. Someone as garrulous as you should find it second nature. You've never had any problems before."

Motochika groaned, drawing his knees up to his chest and folding his arms on them. "You don't understand..."

"No, I don't," Motonari agreed. "It's not a life or death situation, Chosokabe. This drama is unnecessary and distracting."

Motochika buried his face in his arms, frustration lumping at the back of his throat. "This is different... Just... ... argh! I don't want to screw this up! H—She's really special to me!"

"Then all the more reason to say something."

"What if she hates me?" It came out as a whine.

"You're being pathetic. Chosokabe, you are difficult to hate, and I have not gone without trying."

Motochika lifted his head, blinking at Motonari in astonishment and with a little bit of hope. It was probably one of the most positive things to ever come out of Motonari's mouth. Was that a sign? He met Motonari's eyes. The other boy's gaze was calm and steady, but not cold like his usual glares. He was merely waiting.

Motochika's stomach suddenly lurched and he ducked his head into his arms again. He couldn't do it. Motonari was right. He _was_ pathetic. Here was _Motonari_, of all people, trying to encourage him through a difficult time without even realizing the irony of the circumstances, and generally being a better friend than he ever has been. And Motochika just couldn't tell him the truth of his feelings. Motochika Chosokabe, fearless Devil of the West Side, who had plenty of experience in dating and relationships, was terrified of asking Motonari out. No, that wasn't it. He was terrified of being _rejected_ by Motonari—and subsequently losing his friendship.

"I—" Motochika's voice cracked. He licked his lips and tried again. "Forget it. Just get off my back."

Motonari sighed. "You're making mountains out of molehills."

"Shut up." Angry at his own frustration and shame, Motochika lashed out. Why did Motonari have to be so difficult? Why was he making this so hard? "It's none of your business anyway and you're starting to piss me off."

"It _is_ my business when you're bringing your emotional baggage on _my_ time," Motonari replied archly.

Motochika glared at him from the side. "I'm sorry if I have emotions like a normal person. Have _you_ ever really liked someone? Did _you_ tell them? Weren't _you_ nervous?"

"As a matter of fact, I do like someone," Motonari admitted calmly. "So there's no need to make a big production out of something everyone experiences."

Motochika's brain screeched to a halt, anger scattering in the clouds of dust left by this thoughts derailing. "What?" His voice rose in disbelief.

"I said there's no need to make—"

"You like someone? Like _like_?"

Motonari looked annoyed. "Is that so surprising to you?"

Motochika stared at the other boy, stricken. He hadn't even considered the idea that Motonari would have an interest in anyone else—the guy was always alone so Motochika assumed he had no other social contacts outside of school-related matters. "Who—who is it?" Motochika asked in a sick voice. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

The school bell rang, chiming cheerfully that lunch was over. Motonari blinked once at Motochika, before placing his book into his school brief and rising gracefully to his feet.

"Mori!" Okay, Motochika actually did want to know and he didn't like Motonari's silence.

Motonari rolled his eyes heavenward, cradling his bag under an arm. He bent and picked up the forgotten box lunch by Motochika, tapping the boy on the head with it as he straightened. "I'll see you next week, Chosokabe. Try not to bring your personal baggage next time."

Crestfallen, Motochika stared after him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika knew he should've just skipped the rest of school when Tsuruhime burst into his classroom as he and Keiji Maeda were busy cleaning it up at the end of the day.

"Crap," Motochika muttered under his breath. He began tying his trashbbag shut in earnest, as if it were the most fascinating job in the world.

Hadn't Motonari promised he wouldn't say anything? No, wait... Motochika had asked him not to, but Motonari had never explicitly agreed. Double crap. The guy moved fast. Motochika had only "confessed" today!

"Hello, Little Crane," Keiji greeted with Tsuruhime's nickname, setting down a chalkboard eraser. Many people knew the tiny, bubbly girl, ace of the archery team who also dabbled in divination. Girls and boys would line up after school to hear her speak of their fortunes in life and love. "What brings you to our humble classroom?"

Motochika grabbed the trash bags, hauling them over a shoulder as he tried to discreetly make his way out the other classroom door.

"Not so fast, pirate!" Tsuruhime pointed a finger at the fleeing Motochika, calling him the one name that she knew would stop him in his tracks.

"Who you calling a pirate, brat?" Motochika growled, dropping the trash bags to advance on her instead.

"I'm obviously talking to _you_, pirate."

Keiji quickly intercepted as the other boy lunged at her, but Tsuruhime just flitted away, sticking her tongue out at Motochika. "Now, now, Chosokabe," Keiji placated, smiling sheepishly.

"What do you want?" Motochika asked sullenly. Though he had a pretty good idea , but since his escape was thwarted, he may as well endure what was going to happen.

The slight girl folded her arms over her chest, her face now uncertain. "Um..." A blush began to bloom on her pale cheeks and she tossed her head. "I-I'm very flattered, pirate, but I shall remain happily faithful to my Twilight Ninja—for no one can compare to his mystique and bravery!"

"What's this?" Keiji asked.

Tsuruhime pressed fingers to her mouth, eyes lowered shyly. "The pirate is always so mean to me because he can't tell me how he really feels... "

Keiji glanced at Motochika skeptically.

"I don't like you because you called me a filthy pirate and haven't apologized yet," Motochika said evenly. "And I definitely don't _like_ you."

She just pressed hands to her cheeks coquettishly. "It's okay, your friend told me the truth..."

Yeah, if he didn't love the guy, Motochika would definitely devote some time to finding interesting ways to kill Motonari.

"Friend?" Keiji repeated.

Tsuruhime nodded. "That scary president of the music club. Um... Mori...?"

"Mori?" Keiji rubbed his chin, smearing chalk dust over it. "The guy you always sit with at lunch on Thursdays, Motochika?"

Motochika blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Well, you're easy to spot," Keiji replied flippantly before smiling broadly. "Besides, I notice anything that has to do with love." Keiji took his unofficial status as the school's resident romanticist fairly seriously.

Motochika resisted the urge to clock him right in the nose. "You're an annoying guy, do you know that?"

Keiji spread his hands, unperturbed. "You don't have to be insulting."

Tsuruhime looked between the two, thoroughly confused as to the flow of their conversation, but the word 'love' perked her interest.

"You haven't told anyone yet, have you?" Motochika demanded.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I think everyone already knows." Keiji's grin was benign but he quickly took a step back at Motochika's glare. "Don't be angry. I'm just saying that you're kinda obvious about it."

"I am not." Motochika folded his arms over his chest, almost pouting. "I don't recite love poetry or declare my feelings over the PA like you do." Motochika really did feel sorry for Magoichi for having to deal with Keiji Maeda's affections, even if she was skilled at evading them.

"I believe love should be open, like a blossomed flower." Keiji nodded sagely, not the least embarrassed. "It's at its most beautiful when it's expressed with all your heart. Hiding it doesn't benefit anyone."

"Oh yes, Mr. Keiji, that's so true!" Tsuruhime agreed and the two high-fived.

Motochika massaged his temples; these two were giving him a headache. "Well, I've got to hide it, so I'd appreciate it if you'd get rid of any enterprising thoughts. Mori wouldn't take it well."

"Really?" Keiji was surprised.

Tsuruhime blinked as everything she heard clicked together. "Wait! So the pirate actually likes that scary guy Mori?" Motochika felt his eye twitch at the derogatory nickname.

Keiji patted her shoulder. "Yes, Little Crane. I'm afraid so."

She clapped her hands together, her face bright with relief. "Oh, thank goodness! Now I don't feel so bad!"

"Did you even feel bad in the first place...?" Motochika grumbled.

Tsuruhime put her hands on her hips, now afire with righteousness. "Why did you lie to that poor boy, telling him you liked me? He was really looking to help you when he came to me!" She poked a finger into Motochika's chest. "Are you some kind of coward?"

"I'm not a coward, dammit! It's complicated!" Motochika didn't feel like going through all this again—and on the same day, no less!

Keiji scratched a cheek. "If you need help, I'll be glad to assist you. I know some great historical poetry—"

"—and I can look into your love fortune—" Tsuruhime added.

"—Mori looks like he can appreciate the language of flowers—"

"—and if you just do the things my Twilight Ninja does, I'm sure that scary guy will fall for you—"

"_Auuughhh_!"

Keiji and Tsuruhime stopped short, staring at a wild-eyed, huffing Motochika. He looked ready to smash his head against a wall—or smash theirs together.

"Right," Keiji said with a cough. "It's complicated. Got it."

"...Yeah." Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Motochika calmed himself down with some effort.

Tsuruhime hummed thoughtfully, swaying in place. "Oh!" she exclaimed as she remembered something. "Is it complicated because he likes that one guy?"

"Mori likes someone else?" Keiji asked disbelievingly just as Motochika shouted, "Who's this guy!"

Tsuruhime puffed her cheeks out at both of them. "No need to get excited. I just remembered I always see him after school with Mr. Otani. They seemed so into each other!"

Motochika's heart sank. "The teacher's aide?" He knew about Yoshitsugu Otani through Mitsunari; the former tutored the latter on Sundays. Mitsunari had nothing but high praise for Otani, who sounded cultured and learned—the type Motochika could see Motonari respecting and liking.

Tsuruhime nodded.

Motochika plopped down at a desk and buried his face in his hands with a groan. There was no way he could compete with Otani.

"Er," Keiji said, patting Motochika on the shoulder. "I'm not sure if that's true—"

"Of course it is," Tsuruhime interrupted, indignant at being called a liar. "I saw them!"

"No, no, no, I meant I don't think Mori likes Otani—"

"Mori wouldn't hang out with him if he didn't," Motochika moaned.

"Uh, doesn't Mori also hang out with—" Keiji began.

"Goddammit, why me?"

Keiji sighed. Well, he had tried, but it looked like this was beyond his capabilities.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"He chickened out," Magoichi said flatly as she approached the Summit and noticed Motochika with his head between his knees.

Masamune grinned at her in greeting. "Shit, he did more than wuss out."

Magoichi kicked his feet off her seat, before dusting it off and gracefully sinking down. "How did he make it worse?"

"Chosokabe here got the absolutely _brilliant_ idea that honesty is the best policy—until he chickened out on the important bit. He told the guy he liked someone else." Masamune's smirk was vicious. He held out a hand to Magoichi. "My 5000 yen, if you please, my lady."

Motochika lifted his head as Magoichi gestured to one of her flock, who handed her the money. "Wha—?"

"I honestly thought you had bigger balls than this, Motochika," Magoichi said as she dropped the bill onto Masamune's waiting palm.

"You... you _bet_ on this?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Masamune replied, holding up the bill to examine it. "It's easy cash—hey!"

Kojuro quickly pocketed the bill he had swiped from his leader, face stoic. Though Kojuro had disapproved of the initial bet, he was not about to let Masamune flutter away this newfound income on something useless and overwrought. Masamune muttered a curse as he watched his money disappear into the vault of Kojuro's good sense.

Motochika rose indignantly. "These are my feelings! How dare you make a mockery of my angui—"

"Oh ,sit down," Magoichi cut in, jerking on his belt to pull him back into his seat. "You've been spending too much time with Ishida. The only person making a mockery of you is you."

Motochika stared at her before sinking his head into his hands in abject misery. "I'm so stupid, Sayaka."

"No one is refuting that," she agreed matter-of-factly.

"I told him I liked Tsuruhime."

Magoichi's brow lifted.

"He said he was going to talk to her for me." Motochika's shoulders slumped.

Magoichi face-palmed. "Honestly, Motochika... Do you ever think before you speak?"

"And he did because I had to listen to her prattle at me before I got here." Motochika's voice was monotone, stringing his words together in an even, unbroken line.

Magoichi and Masamune exchanged a look.

"He also said he liked someone else," Motochika mumbled and by then, the black cloud of his dejection hung so densely over him that the other leaders expected it to start raining. "I think it's that teacher's aide, Otani..."

Masamune spread his hands and shrugged at Magoichi. "This is beyond my capabilities."

Magoichi pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's beyond anyone's capabilities."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Motochika couldn't even make it all the way through the next Thursday lunch period. He dodged Motonari's cursory inquiries before feigning sickness and leaving early.

Magoichi's stern gaze followed Motochika when he came slinking to the Summit, but she said nothing.

-.-.-.-.-.-

It was probably better to just avoid Motonari overall—maybe think of it as an exercise in steeling his heart against the gaping hole Motonari was sure to leave when they went their separate ways after graduation. And Motochika didn't want to be in the way if Motonari went after Yoshitsugu Otani—he wanted his friends to be happy, after all. But he definitely didn't want to witness Motonari being with someone else.

Purposely skipping the Thursday luncheon with Motonari was hard, especially with his men so surprised to see him attending an entire Thursday lunch period in Class 3-M for the first time in seven years. Magoichi and, to an extent, Masamune seemed less surprised. In fact, he could feel Magoichi's disapproval for giving into his cowardice.

Motochika faked good cheer, and the genuine love and happiness from his gang helped alleviate his sense of guilt. Toward the end of the hour, he could almost forget that it was a Thursday.

-.-.-.-.-.-

The second time wasn't any easier than the first. Motochika knew he had now lost a few notches of respect in Masamune's eye. The Motochika Masamune knew would've faced the issue with cannons blazing.

What a pitiful mockery of his former self Motochika had become. Even Motochika was disgusted with himself for it, but it wasn't enough for him to confront Motonari.

-.-.-.-.-.-

By the time the fourth week rolled around, Motochika was plagued with an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame; he kept it bottled up so his men wouldn't worry about him. Pretending that everything was normal also helped him forget where he was supposed to be on Thursdays, and so he was laughing and smiling with some of his men and the other leaders at the Summit when Motonari paid him a visit.

Motochika hadn't noticed the way a few of his men had gone silent, as he was sharing some story with the other two leaders. Kojuro, however, _did_ notice, and Masamune, ever attuned to the moods of his Right Eye, looked up.

"Oh, shit," was all Masamune managed to say before the hard cover of a book slammed solidly into the back of Motochika's skull.

"What the _fuck_?" Motochika snarled, clutching the back of his head and whirling around in his seat, a fist clenched.

Motonari stared down his nose at Motochika, shocking all the fight from him. "How refreshing to know that you can so readily forget the promises you make." Motonari's voice was even and modulated, but his hands were white-knuckled as they gripped a heavy tome. He was angry—_very_ angry.

The blood drained from Motochika's face. His mouth flapped open and shut uselessly for a few moments before he turned his gaze away. The pain at the back of his skull grew far away as his chest burned with shame. Motochika could feel Motonari's eyes drilling holes into him; he could also feel the eyes of everyone else close enough to witness the confrontation, and heat rose along the back of his neck.

"It is common courtesy to inform the other party of any change in plans, but I suppose it was too much to expect a barbarian like you to have any semblance of manners."

There was really nothing Motochika could say. He knew he was completely at fault. He stared at his hands clenching the fabric of his pants in frustration and helplessness.

"Waste my time again and it will not be a book I shall use to split your thick head."

Motonari then turned and calmly walked away, the crowd parting to let him through.

The Summit was drowned in silence. Even Masamune, quick with the wisecracks, seemed at loss on what to say.

Eventually Motochika looked up, shooting Magoichi a weak grin. "I... fucked up, huh, Sayaka?"

"Yes." There was no pity in her voice. "Now stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself and do something about it."

-.-.-.-.-.-

The next Thursday, Motochika hid behind a nearby building, watching Motonari read beneath their tree. He had no idea how he was going to fix their friendship—an apology didn't seem like it'd be enough. Motonari had been truly angry and Motochika's only excuse was, 'I love you so I'm avoiding you'—which now stopped making sense in hindsight.

So Motochika could only watch from afar, wondering what to do.

Sitting alone like that, Motonari looked so similar to the image of the Thursday boy Motochika had first bothered all those years ago, with isolation drawn like a thick blanket around him.

No, this was different, Motochika slowly realized. That isolation from seven years ago was self-imposed. This one was...

_Damn... I really fucked up._

-.-.-.-.-.-

After his epiphany, Motochika spent all his waking hours figuring out the perfect apology. His crew, heartened that their boss was full of his usual determined spirit, suggested all manner of ideas and helped out in any way possible. Class 3-M became a ruckus as Motochika's already spirited gang became ten-times more boisterous. Masamune and Magoichi wore similar expressions of bemused indulgence when their own groups eventually joined the excitement.

The image of Motonari alone under that tree sustained Motochika when he felt his courage falter under doubt and fear, and he forged stubbornly ahead.

-.-.-.-.-.-

When the following Thursday arrived, everyone saw him off with well-wishes. Motochika caught sight of Masamune and Magoichi shaking hands—he knew they were placing a wager on the outcome. Well, it didn't matter. He was in high-spirits as he marched to the PE grounds, determined not to only mend his friendship with Motonari, but confess his love as well.

That good feeling lasted right up until he spotted the familiar tree in the distance. Then the rock dropped into his gut and those familiar butterflies followed shortly after. Motochika had never felt this apprehensive in his entire life, not even when he had lost a bet when he was thirteen that had resulted in participating in a "Girls' Night Out" with his sisters. He was grateful he hadn't eaten yet because he didn't think Motonari would take kindly to him puking all over the loafers Motonari kept in such pristine condition.

'_Get it together, Chosokabe,_' he berated silently, smacking himself across the face. He took a deep breath that did nothing to calm his nerves and marched toward the firing squad disguised as his friend.

Motonari didn't even look up from his book, and the silence between them was only broken by the loud pounding of Motochika's heart in his ears.

A half-eaten box lunch sat beside Motonari. Motochika felt that was a positive sign and it boosted his courage, spurring him into action. Before he could think it through, he thrust his peace offering under Motonari's nose.

The slim boy made a sound of annoyance at the obstruction blocking his view, leaning back to glare first at the box and then at Motochika.

Motochika could only hope his own expression was suitably contrite.

With another sound of irritation, Motonari set aside his book to take Motochika's offering, turning it this way and that.

Motochika fidgeted. "It's senbei." He had spied Motonari eagerly devouring entire bags during those times when they weren't supposed to acknowledge each other. At the suggestion of his men, Motochika had taken a number of flavors he had guessed Motonari enjoyed and arranged them artfully in a decorative box emblazoned with a sun. ("Cause he's the light of yer life, boss!" someone had shouted, and while even Motochika felt that was ridiculously sappy, he had a hard time refusing his men anything.)

"You didn't do anything to it, did you?" Motonari's inquiry was instant and his expression was wary.

"What? No," Motochika said defensively. "What's that supposed to mean anyway?"

"Hmph." Motonari lifted the cover and delicately plucked up a cracker. He nibbled on it tentatively and Motochika could feel a tick hitting the back of his eye—did the other boy really think he'd _poison_ them?

Satisfied with the taste, Motonari quickly polished off the remaining cracker and reached for another. Motochika silently sighed in relief; apparently he made the right choice in the peace offering. Figuring it was safe, he sat down beside Motonari, the box lunch creating a space between them. He felt a lot less nervous and even smiled a little at the way Motonari attacked the snack.

Abruptly, Motonari's head swiveled toward Motochika, brown eyes bearing down in full-force, which made the butterflies return to Motochika's stomach. The double whammy of that patented Motonari Mori Stare and his own lovesick jitters was almost too much for Motochika's brain to handle; the carefully considered apology he spent all week polishing and practicing just vanished.

"Ah," Motochika began intelligently.

Motonari's gaze intensified.

Motochika stifled a cough to buy some time to reorganize his thoughts, rubbing sweaty palms on the thighs of his uniform pants. For once, he wished Motonari wouldn't look at him so directly—how the hell did the guy go without blinking for so long?

"I-I'm sorry," Motochika tried again and though he stammered, the words were out. The anxiety was still there though. Apologizing wasn't the issue. Motochika was man enough to own up to his mistakes; he never felt it was a blow to his pride to admit to error. It was about what he was apologizing for—what he was trying to hide because he hadn't been man enough to own up to Motonari about how he really felt... and face the imminent rejection from it.

"Is that all?"

Pressing his lips together, Motochika turned to face Motonari and their eyes locked. Motochika didn't have Motonari's flair for language and in the end, perhaps it was best just to be simple and honest, true to his personality. "No." He bowed his head. "I broke an important promise. I'm a horrible friend and I'm really sorry."

Motonari was silent for a moment and Motochika swallowed thickly. Then Motonari hmphed. "I suppose that is sufficient." And Motochika knew he was forgiven.

The pale-haired teenager raised his face, only to be slapped upside the head none-too-gently.

"Ow!" Motochika rubbed his head, shooting Motonari an unimpressed glare. This hitting-on-the-head thing was becoming tedious. "What the hell was that for?"

Motonari's expression was unreadable. "If you ever think of breaking a promise to me again, you would do well to remember that pain."

"Cause you'll return it ten-fold, blah blah blah? Shit, Mori..." But a smile was spreading over Motochika's face.

"Incorrect. It will be a hundred-fold."

"Got it, got it." Motochika's smile was now bright, laughter in his voice. He was so relieved that he felt like jumping around, whooping with joy. "If beating the crap out of me would've worked for you, I could've saved some money not buying senbei." Motochika leaned over, swiping the box out of Motonari's hands. "You can't have both, you know."

Motonari's eyes narrowed. "I'll be happy to demonstrate 'beating the crap out of you' if you don't return my senbei."

Motochika made a big show of eating some of the crackers, holding the box away from the other boy. "Oh yeah? I remember kicking your ass pretty well once before."

"Your memory is as faulty as your brain." Motonari lunged for the box. "Now return what is mine!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Motochika chided, holding the box above his head with one hand. Motonari growled at this flagrant abuse of the differences in their height, pushing a hand down onto Motochika's shoulder to give himself a boost as he tried for the box again.

Motochika was unprepared for the sudden weight bearing down on him. He tipped backwards, the senbei flying out behind him in a rain of crackers; his elbow knocked into the box lunch, spilling its contents onto the grass. Motonari's eyes widened as his leverage suddenly dropped out from under him. His hands shot out to catch himself before he faceplanted into Motochika's chest, pinning the other boy to the ground.

Motochika winced, tilting his head back to look at the food scattered around them. "Whoops..."

"My senbei..." Motonari actually sounded upset. His fingers suddenly bunched in Motochika's shirt and he lowered himself to stare almost nose to nose with the other. "Now you have ruined both the lunch my family had prepared and the gift you have given me." Motonari's dark eyes were challenging. "How do you plan to apologize for this?"

Motochika stared up at him, mouth suddenly dry at the lack of space between them. The tips of Motonari's hair brushed his cheeks, and he was hyper-aware of every place Motonari pressed against him. Everything around them sounded so far away as his heart drummed in his ears.

"Mori—"

"Well?" The challenging look was smoldering.

Motochika hesitated for only a moment—just enough time for that fear of rejection to scream a shrill warning before it was run over by a horde of gung-ho, lovestruck hormones. By then Motochika had already slid a hand behind Motonari's neck to pull him into a kiss.

Everything broke free inside Motochika, and he lost himself in all the passion and doubt and happiness and anxiety and tranquillity and frustration and trust and sorrow—every fervent emotion that made up the love he had for this infuriating, delightful boy. His heart couldn't deny it any longer and he realized he didn't want to, and he made sure Motonari understood that in the most forward, instinctive way possible.

A little disappointed sound escaped Motochika when Motonari finally broke the kiss and drew back. Dazed and slightly out of breath, Motochika blinked at the other boy, who now wore a carefully neutral expression.

"Mori...?"

"It took you long enough."

"Huh?" Motochika blinked again, this time in confusion. He stared at Motonari, at the ruffled hair and the moist lips and the faintest touch of color on those cheeks and— "Oh fuck!" Motochika sat up straight, nearly smacking heads with Motonari. "Fuck, Mori, I—"

"You're an idiot." Motonari pressed a hand against Motochika's chest as the other boy began to flail around.

Motochika clapped his hands together, bowing his head, mortified. "I'm sorry, Mori. God, I wasn't thinking and—please don't hate me!"

"Hate you?" Motonari snorted. "Quite the contrary. I've told you before, you're exceedingly difficult to hate."

Motochika lifted his head. "You..." His frenetic thoughts mashed together, overwhelming him. Did this mean...? Everything suddenly fell into place with a loud clunk. His heart soared.

"However, I find your apology a bit lacking. I expect another gift of senbei next—"

Motochika silenced him with another kiss.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"What are the lot of you doing?"

Startled, Keiji whipped around before smiling, pleased. "Magoichi!" He bounded to her side like a puppy as she walked up.

Magoichi looked past him at Tsuruhime and a few boys she recognized from Motochika's crew, including Kira. They were all huddled tightly together at the edge of the building.

"Ssssh!" Tsuruhime hissed, hands fluttering for silence at Keiji. "They might hear you!"

_I see, so that's it_, Magoichi thought, leaning over to look around the corner.

Under a small tree some distance away, Motochika and the cause of all his drama were sitting close, heads bent together. Motochika was talking animatedly; she couldn't hear what he was saying, but the foolish grin on his face was apparent even this far.

"Ohhhh, it was so sweet!" Tsuruhime gushed. "My Twilight Ninja and I will have to work hard to top a beautiful moment like that!"

Kira was stifling sobs of what Magoichi could only presume were joy. Several others of Motochika's crew were shiny-eyed.

She shook her head wryly. There was honestly very little she could say to any of that. "All right, children," she clapped her hands crisply, "it's time to go. I think they have it from here."

As she herded them off, she glanced back at her childhood friend—sometimes so thick-headed—and indulged in a faint, brief smile.

"Looks like even Magoichi Saica can appreciate a happy ending," Keiji said from next to her with a gentle expression.

She shrugged noncommittally and decided to humor her most ardent admirer. "I can appreciate any ending in which Date owes me 20,000 yen."

* * *

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Playing Motonari's blue path several times severely depressed me, so I wanted to write something fluffy and happy and a little bit fun for my favorite pairing. I needed brain candy after that blue path.

I know, I know, I would've loved to use Sunday too but ffff...

Beta'd by the beautiful and ever-patient **kurumasha**. What'd I do without her, I don't know.

Comments and critiques are always welcome. Thanks for reading!


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